


any changeable quality

by sludgement



Category: SOMA (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 12:10:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6469558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sludgement/pseuds/sludgement
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something about what it would be like to wait on the ARK for your friends to be scanned, without knowing what was happening back on Pathos-II. Focuses on the crew of Site Delta, as Javid Goya waits for Astrid and Brandon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	any changeable quality

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for death, suicide, and suicidal ideation. 
> 
> The title is taken from a small play on words on a mathematical definition of delta: the upper case Δ can denote change of any changeable quantity. Please pardon any inaccuracies and liberties with the timeline, and feel free to let me know if you notice something off!

Javid Goya expects to be unconscious for awhile. Instead, the scan ends and the helmet is gone without going up again, and he is suddenly awake in a cave without ever falling asleep, faced with dirt and plants and far-off sunlight. His knee still hurts. 

“Whoa,” he says, and then, “I'm here?” 

No one answers, which makes him think he must be. 

— 

The walk out is lovely. Goya wonders if it’s always warm. He hadn’t asked Dr. Chun about hardly anything beforehand. Maybe it’s because of it looking and feeling so much like a real summer that he only makes it halfway through the survey before losing patience and walking further. He’s only just gotten here; he’s not sure if it makes him feel _normal._

He can’t recall at which point in the scan he’d no longer been at Pathos-II. Maybe there was something to Sarang’s thinking after all. Probably easier to believe in something like that if you had a clearer idea of how things like this worked to begin with. Goya hadn’t been betting he’d win whatever contest of selves happened up there in Dr. Chun’s scanning process, and hadn’t thought the prize would be worth much. Shouldn’t it be… faker, in here? Look a little more like using a Pilot Seat usually did? Or… gray, or like the future. Walking in the sun has made him start sweating. He wonders if Dr. Chun can do anything about the way his left knee’s been bothering him. 

The city across the bridge doesn’t look _that_ much like where he’s from on the surface, isn’t _that_ much like anywhere he’s been, but he has to blink tears away at the sight even so. The sun is coming off the water in brightly overlapping shapes. There had been light coming off the ocean, like this, when he'd shipped down to Pathos-II for the first time. He’d met Brandon exactly a week before that. Brandon had been on surface leave, and took the trip down with him— he hadn’t liked Brandon then, thought Brand was so stuck up and full of it, look how that’d changed— and told Goya about Astrid and Terry on the way to Delta, told him what the food would be like, laughed at him when he’d looked worried. 

Fuck. He can’t believe he didn’t think of them sooner. He'll be the only one from Delta here, won't he. His amazement and relief fades back into a far more familiar sense of dread. He knows a couple people from other stations, at least, if not well, and if the scanning schedule continues— is it one a day?— Astrid and Brandon shouldn’t be long behind. However it works, whatever happened to get him here, they would be together soon, he tells himself. God. He misses them already. 

— 

“Javid, ending in v-i-d, Goya,” he has to tell Dr. Chun, again. The second time that day for him, the first time, he guesses, for her. She nods, looking a little distracted. 

“That sounds right for today. Welcome home,” she says. She keeps looking off in different directions, like she’s thinking of a million different things, or like a million other people are talking to her at once. Goya doesn’t know how being administrator of an entire virtual world feels. Hell, he didn’t even have a good mental picture of what it’d be like to get here, let alone what it might be like to run it. 

“Thanks, I guess.” He isn’t sure which question to ask first. “What kind of work can be done here?” 

“Work? You aren’t… you don’t want a break?” 

“Working again would be a relief, Dr. Chun,” Goya says, thinking of times he’d been working out on a particularly good night a ways off from the station with Brandon and seen the barest hint of the moon, coming through the water after finishing the job and turning their lamps off. 

He recalls when Brandon had first taken him out there and told him to switch off the light, so he could show him something, and Goya hadn’t wanted to, and nearly kept it on just out of spite before agreeing to turn it off awhile. The way he’d gone quiet, still, awed in the dark beside Brandon, both of them looking up at that faint light far, far away above them. 

“It’s been administrative work, so far, mostly. I admit,” Dr. Chun makes a face like she’s tasted something horrible. “I admit, I don’t always have the… practical experience, to arrange things reliably, even if I know what we need, and that’ll be an issue soon enough. You were a Wrangler?” 

“Yeah, at Delta, and good at it. Let me get this straight. You sometimes need someone to put the pieces you’ve come up with together, right?” 

Dr. Chun’s expression gets worse. “Something like that.” 

He can tell that admitting she isn’t sure how to best handle something in here makes Dr. Chun sick. Goya doesn’t consider himself the most supportive, touchy-feely kind of person— he takes care of himself and stays the hell out of other people’s ways while they get their respective problems solved. That’s how he’s always handled things. 

“Hey, no shame in that. It’s amazing in here, and I'll be glad to have something to do.” Whatever, right? New world, new life, new opportunity to say something sort of nice to the woman who’s made it possible. Especially if he gets to work on something good again. 

Dr. Chun smiles thinly. He isn’t sure how long they’ll have to know each other before he’ll find himself calling her by her first name. Maybe never, honestly, even for him. 

“Oh, the other thing. Astrid and Brand are gonna be here soon, right?” 

“Are those your colleagues?” 

“Yeah. Brandon Wan, Astrid Krier.” He tries not to think about Terry back at Delta alone. What’s done is done, and no one in the world can change Mr. Akers’ mind about something once he’s made it up. 

“I think Krier’s scheduled for tomorrow. I don’t have immediate correspondence with the world outside, but I know we’re scheduled to get one scan done a day, unless… well, unless something goes wrong, and I’d like to trust myself.” Dr. Chun laughs at her own joke. Goya doesn’t get it quickly enough to laugh with her. “If your friends are interested, they should be scanned soon.” 

Astrid tomorrow, Brand after that. Goya stands there looking at Dr. Chun, feeling his face twist up into a huge, goofy smile. He hopes they’ll love it here. 

— 

He waits for Astrid, the next day. He’d fallen asleep easier than he’d expected to, after spending the whole afternoon walking around the Ark, seeing who all was there. The sunset had been too vivid to think of describing. He’d gone so long without seeing one in the flesh, so to speak. Getting in bed his last thoughts had been of whether Astrid and Brandon were asleep yet. He had considered briefly whether Brandon might be awake and thinking of him, too, and fell asleep a little dizzy at the thought. 

Dr. Chun told him he should wait out by the bridge, not in the cave or in front of it. Weird, but Goya feels strangely trusting of her, and thinks it’s right to do what she said, even if only for the sake of formality, or aesthetics, or whatever half-science, half-magic Dr. Chun ever has in mind. The sun on the water keeps taking his attention away from looking for Astrid, and he misses seeing her until she’s only a little ways down the path from him. 

“Astrid!” He stands up straight, waving. She hurries the rest of the way towards him, breaking out into an unsteady shuffle, not quite an outright jog. 

“J, is this…” She licks her chapped lips. “Are we okay?” 

“Yeah, we made it. How are you feeling? How's Brandon?” 

Astrid looks ill. “Um. Brandon’s fine. I think he will be coming after Alice.” 

Goya tries to keep the disappointment off his face. Alice is good, funny, kind. He looks forward to seeing her here, too, she’s just not… _Brandon._ It’s a huge relief seeing Astrid, at least. He looks her over with unspeakable gratitude. Her familiar eyes, her messy braid, the comforting shape of her shoulders, and the big scar on her chin. She’s one of the only people Goya’s ever met who’s as tall as him, which he’s always liked about her. 

Astrid follows Goya’s gaze to a new bandage around her arm. “It’s nothing, really. Carelessness. You know how things are— were, for us, back there. Are you okay?” 

“I’m just glad to see you. Wouldn’t believe how much I worried.” 

“Worried? About what?” Astrid sounds bewildered. 

“About you! Being here a day before you! Two days before Brand!” It is sort of a baffling concept, to be fair. Goya hadn’t pictured the Ark as a place where you’d wait. Even someone like Astrid, who had been convinced by Dr. Chun’s project from the day she heard of it, must have had a vaguer idea of the Ark than what it’d be like actually being there. Goya couldn’t have anticipated squinting at each other in the kind of afternoon light that’ll get in your eyes no matter which way you look. 

“Oh. Right. Jesus.” She opens her mouth like she’s going to say something else, and closes it again, looking uneasy. “Is there a place where I can sit down?” 

“Just you wait until you see our rooms,” Goya says, taking her unhurt arm, putting his own unease aside. 

— 

Alice doesn’t arrive the third day, or the fourth. Dr. Chun says something vague about the project being “delayed” and disappears into her office. She won’t let anyone in to talk to her further. Both days, Goya paces in the hall outside her office until it becomes clear he won’t be able to get in and then wanders through all the buildings that are open, like the sharks he likes (liked?) to watch at work, hardly stopping to rest. He barely pays attention to the third sunset he’s seen in forever. He doesn’t fall asleep easily the third night, and discovers firsthand that it’s still possible to have nightmares on the Ark. 

He stares out at the fourth day’s sunset from his room’s balcony, feeling like he’s going to throw up. Brandon hasn’t seen the sun in fucking years. Someone knocks on his door and lets themself in before he can tell them to leave him alone. 

“I have to tell you something,” Astrid says to him, stepping outside to join him. He doesn’t actually mind Astrid coming through his room without permission, if she needs to. He’s thought of her as the sister he never had for a couple years, now, and quarters at Delta had been close enough that they probably already all know the worst things about each other. 

Goya gives her a nod to continue. 

“I killed myself,” Astrid says. 

“What?” Goya takes it as a statement of intent, at first, freezes up before he can say _please don’t._

“After the scan. I was going to kill myself if I lost. I know that I— the other me— _she_ did it.” 

“If you lost— like, continuity?” Goya thinks he really might throw up now. “Why the fuck would you do that? You— you’re here, you made it, didn’t—“ 

“Not the other me,” Astrid says, very quietly. 

“Christ.” Every breath feels worse than the last. “Why, though? It wasn’t— that bad—“ It was, though, Goya thinks. He understands, as much as he doesn’t want to. He’d thought about it, himself, not in the way of that continuity bullshit, but in the good, old fashioned, _everyone on earth is dead and I’m having a staring contest with the ocean and the ocean’s winning_ way. The memory makes him look up at Astrid, suddenly frightened. “Did I—?” 

“No! No, you didn’t, you were very disappointed, but you said you never… expected it to work out for you, that you were…” Astrid bites her lip. “That you were okay with it not working out, if you were with… us. But—“ 

He hasn’t thought of his other self at all, really, hadn’t cared to. He’s thinking about him now. Another Goya. A cold, wet and terrified Goya, now in mourning for one of his dearest friends. 

“Fuck.” He stumbles back to one of the chairs on his balcony so he can sit a minute. His legs aren’t working right. “Fuck, Astrid. Why’d you have to tell me, fuck.” 

“Because I think that is the reason for the delay.” Astrid’s face is pale, and she’s sweating. She clearly doesn’t feel any better about this than Goya does, as disinclined as he is to be sympathetic. “And I don’t know when or if the scans will start again. And I thought it was right, for you to know.” 

Goya’s out of words. Hell. How could Astrid do that, why couldn’t she hold it together just a little longer, until Brandon was safe? Until all of them were safe, he figures, thinking of Dr. Chun’s project. It’s not just Brandon on hold. But it’s Brandon he’s thinking of, as he’s sitting here feeling like he’s folding in on himself, like he’s going to fucking die the way the Astrid back on Pathos-II apparently fucking died. Brandon’s smile, Brandon’s voice, Brandon’s laugh, how Brandon’s hand feels (felt?) on his shoulder, how Brandon sometimes puts an arm ( _used to put an arm?_ ) around him if they’re sitting together, how often he used to wonder if it meant something, how much he fucking wanted it to mean something, whatever that might mean about _himself._

“J?” 

“Get out,” he breathes, hoarsely. 

“Okay,” Astrid says. “Sorry.” 

“It’s— it’s okay,” Goya says. Nothing is fucking okay, but taking it out on Astrid (Astrid, the toughest person he knows, who was hurting bad enough back on Pathos-II to believe Sarang, who never told him how serious she was about the continuity thing) isn’t going to help. “I’m sorry. I just. Fuck. I can’t, Astrid. Not right now.” 

The other Goya, miserable, in mourning, doomed to a few more years at best must be near Brandon right now. Goya’s never been any kind of jealous of himself before, has never been any kind of homesick for Theta’s grimy, unfamiliar halls before. 

Astrid nods, puts a hand on his upper arm, leaves it there a moment before stepping back into his room. He hears her close the door behind her. 

Goya can't sleep for more than a couple hours, and doesn't talk to Astrid or anyone else all the next day. It's almost a day that doesn't happen, for all he can bring himself to process it. He's had days like that before, is used to waking up in a haze, head heavy, hands moving emptily like they belong to someone else. A year ago he'd be able to work off days like that, focusing on moving his body toward a goal until he felt like he was in it again. The ocean had felt heavy enough to hold him in a human shape. He can't bring himself to think of asking Dr. Chun whether he can start working for her here yet, and thinks somehow it'd be wrong to try to feel any better. 

He dozes off and wakes up another couple hours later. The moon is near full. A warm breeze keeps coming up and through his open balcony door. This is the most beautiful place he's ever been miserable in.

He walks out to the caves alone later that night, and spends awhile looking at the Pilot Seat he’d woken up in, trying to picture Brandon waking up there. It's more difficult than he would like.

— 

When Alice arrives, Goya is asleep. He hadn’t fallen asleep until late after getting back from the caves, and had gotten back late already. Astrid comes by to wake him up. It wasn’t enough sleep (it seems their bodies here still need enough sleep, which he might complain to Dr. Chun about), but she only has to say the word _scan_ and Goya is wide awake. 

They hurry to Dr. Chun’s office to meet Alice, who is just leaving. Alice steps out of the room, sees Astrid, and says “Oh!” 

“Hello,” Astrid says, before Goya can ask if Brandon’s alright. 

“Shit,” Alice says back. She reaches out and touches Astrid’s bicep unbelievingly. “You’re… okay?” 

“This version of me, yes.” Astrid holds still, lets Alice feel her arm. Alice looks like she’s near tears. It’d be funny, in any other circumstances. 

“I’m so glad to see you,” Alice says. 

Goya doesn’t want to know if Alice saw Astrid’s body, or only heard about her death. Either way, it’s bad. “Hey, Alice. Good to see you too. Are the scans back on schedule?” He tries to ask this in a normal voice. 

Alice smiles at him with the friendliness of someone who hasn’t seen him in a few hours, not the stricken expression of someone who’s been trying to cope with his sudden death. He guesses that means the other Goya’s still doing okay, more or less. “Hello, Javid. Yes, they are. Brandon’s coming tomorrow.” 

Goya feels a sick stab of something at how easily Brand’s name comes to her mouth, and at how she’s only gonna have to wait a day (God and Dr. Chun willing, it’ll only be another day). It’s nothing compared to the relief washing through him. He looks up at Astrid, whose expression is strange. 

“The project is continuing?” Astrid asks this like she can’t quite understand it. 

“Yes, it is,” Alice says. For the first time, Goya sees Astrid cry. 

— 

The three of them go out to wait for Brandon together. Goya and Astrid are so much taller than Alice that she has to walk quickly to keep up. Any other day Goya and Astrid might try to slow down, but they’ve been waiting for Brandon almost a week, and neither of them have much patience left for anything. Their worry has rubbed off on Alice. She doesn’t complain about the fast walk, and looks like she didn’t sleep more than a couple hours. God knows Goya barely slept. 

There’s a thin fog, today. It materializes from the water and sweeps up over the city in slow waves. It doesn’t look real, exactly, but clouds never looked real. Goya can’t remember if he’s seen clouds exactly like this, or if he ever paid enough attention to what the weather on rivers looked like, back when he lived near one. He likes these, real or not. 

Goya’s thinking about the other Alice. Alice said something about planning to go with Brandon to his scan, and that Brandon went with her to hers, because they wanted to ride out the hangover together. Goya pictures them walking through the dim corridors of Pathos-II, Alice’s hand on Brandon’s arm (he’s glad she’s there with him, he’s glad Brandon has someone with him he can trust, really, _really_ ), stepping into that room where Dr. Chun will copy Brandon’s body and soul into the Pilot Seat waiting for him in the Ark’s caves. What a process. Goya considers briefly what order Brandon’s body parts might materialize in and decides that’s a thought better left alone. Maybe that’s why no one’s supposed to wait right there for new arrivals to the Ark— or maybe it’s just that Dr. Chun doesn’t want anyone to influence newcomers’ answers on the survey. 

Brandon comes around the corner, then, and Goya starts running towards him without deciding to. 

Alice and Astrid are hurrying too, he’s ahead of them, he’s reaching out, his arms are around Brandon and Brandon is startled, laughing, a hand on Goya’s chest and a hand on Goya’s back. _Brandon, Brandon, Brand,_ Goya hears himself saying to Brandon and then into Brandon’s hair. Astrid’s arms are folding around them both from behind Goya, and Alice is pressing close at their side. Brandon kisses Alice on the mouth and before Goya can process anything like jealousy Brandon is turning back to him, kissing his cheek, the hand on Goya’s chest sliding up to tenderly hold his chin so Brandon can kiss his face again and again. It’s good that Brandon turns to Astrid and kisses her cheek too, after that, because Goya’s knees are close to giving out (Brandon touches Astrid’s arms and shoulders with weak, grateful awe; like Alice all over again). 

Brandon must’ve caught the enthusiasm from them, couldn’t have known yet how scared they all were. The other Brandon and other Alice must be walking out of Dr. Chun’s room together, stumbling, quiet. Maybe the other Goya is waiting outside for them. Maybe the other Goya has worked out how he feels about everything, about the Ark, about Brandon. Maybe he’s going to stay with Alice and Brandon, and do what he can to keep their tired human bodies safe until the ocean comes crashing down on them all. _I’m okay with it not working out, as long as I’m with you. For now. For now. For now._

“That wasn’t so bad,” Brandon says, sort of muffled by the three people holding onto him. “Strohmeier really got me worked up. Bastard.” 

Goya’s forehead is pressing into Brandon’s the way they’d sometimes end up with their helmets pressed together after a job well done, Brandon’s arm around Goya’s shoulders— this time, no glass or water between them. 

“Yeah, not bad at all,” Goya mumbles, like _eternal bliss among the stars_ hasn’t been the worst thing he could imagine without Astrid and Brandon there. 

He recalls Dr. Chun saying _welcome home,_ and doesn’t think he can repeat those words, yet, as good as the fresh air feels. 

“Welcome here,” he says. Brandon laughs (everyone laughs) which is absolutely fine. Goya closes his eyes, trying to catch his breath, and lets himself laugh weakly too. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> _SCAN LOG_   
>  _Goya, Javid [Aug 19]_   
>  _Krier, Astrid [Aug 20] ((Suicide))_   
>  _Koster, Alice [Aug 24]_   
>  _Wan, Brandon [Aug 25]_


End file.
